The Chase
by Smoltenica
Summary: Based on 'Turn of the Screw' by Henry James. Flora, now an adult, reflects on her childhood. Rated for safety.


"What do you want from me?" I say.

He looks at me- a very familiar face- and smiles.

"I want you to remember," he says.

There is a pause. An eerie silence fills the air, and I feel a chill pass through me, though I can see the sun shining brightly in the sky.

"Pardon?"

The moment passes, almost in the blink of an eye, and he is smiling at me (like always), has pulled out the chair with that wonderful, irreverent smirk of his.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

I laugh. "The usual, you know that, Peter."

It's an extravagant fare- scones and Devonshire tea.

"Anything for you, my dear."

He disappears. The breakfast will come soon. He has hired good servants. Thank God they are not pretty, else they should remind me of _her_.

-

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

We are by a lake. He smiles at me, slips a hand around my waist.

"Not as beautiful as you, my dear."

I blink; the sun has momentarily stilled behind a cloud. It returns in almost an instant, and I almost forget the shadows that fell across the lake, but there is an eerie stillness in the air.

"I want you to remember."

"Mm?" I close my eyes and lean on his shoulder. He pushes a curl away from my forehead.

It is so pleasant here. It has taken me years to be able to sit by a lake once more.

"You still remember _her_."

His voice is cold. I open my eyes and shiver. My heart is still for a moment then the blood flows through like a gushing river. He is looking across the river, not staring at me.

"I still feel her watching me," I whisper, my gaze falling to my lap. "I tried to make a boat- a small boat, bark and twigs, childish games, you know. I wanted to sail away from her. But she was always there, always watching- I couldn't escape, I couldn't!"

My voice has raised itself, almost without my knowledge. Then he has enfolded me, is kissing my forehead, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, even as I saw him embrace her all those years ago.

Against my will, I open my eyes and raise my head to face him.

"You like me more than you ever liked Sylvia Jessel, don't you dearest?"

There is almost a hint of desperation to my voice. I need to hear the answer, though I know it instinctively before he speaks.

"Hush, dear, she is gone. And you are far more beautiful than she could ever be."

He kisses me then- a light, feathery brush, but it burns. There is a glint in his eyes, but I know it is not aimed at me, and I lean towards him and let him kiss me once more.

Any distraction that burns the memory of _that _day by the lake with _her _is welcome.

-

I have the nightmare again. I always have it after going to a lake. It is the feeling of someone watching me, the feeling of not being myself, of never being alone. I wake up and he is already there with his arms around me, pressing his cool lips to my forehead.

"She is gone, she is gone," he says, and a cry breaks itself from my lips-

"And so is Miles!"

She _took_ him, took my brother- she wanted to take me, but failed, and so she took my brother!

It is still burned into my memory, the day I realised. She _longed _for me and it was not right- more than a mother, closer than a daughter, who knows what relation it was that she wished for? I could hardly stand being with her, but Mrs Grose was fond of her, and I hoped that she might someday leave me alone. She thought me charming, I know she did!- she _told _me she did!- so why hadn't she left me alone?

No- instead I led her by the gardens, hoping to lose her with the roses, but she followed, too closely, _too _closely! And then by the lake she watched me like a hawk; I remember focusing on the bark, trying to fit the twig in, as _she _had taught me.

"She still will not leave me alone," I cry, "Why will she not leave me alone?"

The room is silent as the sunlight begins to streak across the sky. After a pause that fills a lifetime, he sits up behind me, winds his arms around my body.

"Come back to sleep, my dear. She cannot bother you; I am here. _We_ have won. You are mine."

I lean backwards, letting the darkness envelop my sight. It leaves me curiously, almost delightfully exposed.

"Tell me again," I beg him, and he brands my throat with a kiss.

"We have won; she cannot bother us anymore," he repeats. "Or don't you remember?"

-

I remember the curtains.

"_Let us show her we can be bad," _Miles had said to me, and we had laughed; young, beautiful, conspiratorial, invincible.

"_I suppose she fancies herself good. Or she fancies herself on our 'side'." _

He laughed. _"Whoever said this was a battle? Peter Quint and Miss Jessel never had any battle, and weren't they wonderful chums?" _

"_Oh, yes!" _I had cried.

"_And she isn't at all like them," _he had finished. _"She is trying to hold onto us- I know you've felt it, Flora. So I shall pretend to run away, or at least, retrace Peter Quint's favourite garden walk. She shan't know what has hit her!" _

I remember agreeing to hide beneath the curtains and giggling.

It had worked, too! Our plan had worked! How shocked she had been, how dreadfully confused! And she had stared at me when I told my obvious lie, stared as if she wanted to believe me. As if she had not thought we could have a deceitful bone in our bodies! Well, we showed her, and she could not possess us, not then!

How Miles and I had giggled afterwards.

_(But then, how she had watched us.)_

The giggle dies on my lips at the thought, and instead, I stare into my cup of tea. It is black, and there is a slight ripple. I close my eyes.

-

"Have some tea, dear," a voice encourages me from behind. My eyes fly open and I turn around.

"Who are you?"

A woman, a woman in white, stands behind me. Her hair is brown- _(almost like __hers__)- _and she has a tired look in her eyes.

"Where _am_ I?"

"Sit down dear," she says, and ushers me to a wooden chair. "Have your tea."

I look down in my hands. I am holding a cup of tea. It is black, and there are ripples in the top.

"Where _am _I?" I repeat.

"You know where you are, dear," the woman says, tiredly. "You've been here since your guardian placed you here, several years ago."

My heart stops.

"My _guardian?" _I whisper. "But- he left. He left!"

"No," the voice says, almost metallic, and echoing from a thousand miles away. "He is here, and he still visits you each Saturday."

Every word is like an anchor, dragging from my heart. If my guardian is still here, and I had thought he had left, then what if- what if _she _is still-

I start to scream.

Vaguely, I hear shouts from behind me- feel a pair of hands grasp my arms and carry me away.

_Not her! Not her!_

_-_

"Finish your breakfast, dear," he says from behind me, and I arch my back and turn my head around, smiling coyly.

"I will," I promise. "Peter dear?"

He stares at me, piercingly, and then glances away.

"Yes, my Flora?"

I stare out the window. The sun has risen; the soft blue sky is flecked with bits of lace.

"Peter?" I repeat.

"Yes, dear?" he replies vaguely.

"What do I need to remember?"

There is a flicker behind his eyes as he draws near to me, slides his arms around me. I turn around and nestle my head against his chest.

"Remember what, my dear?"

And then he kisses me.

* * *

_A/N: I have 'borrowed'- stolen, one could say!- a concept from another fanfic author on this website. My memory momentarily escapes me, but the fic involved a chilling Harry/Ginny storyline. I read it once, a long time ago, and have not been able to find it since, but the idea of the plot stuck with me. To whomever the author of that fic was, I apologise that I could not find you and a) ask your permission and b) thank you!_


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